


Plum Tea

by ChocolatePapers



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Hoo boy not sure how to tag that but there's certainly some Panic herein, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Panic Attack, aka cass deals with the long term effects of repeated use of feeblemind, and Pike adopts another de Rolo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 02:46:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11865045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolatePapers/pseuds/ChocolatePapers
Summary: "Something is missing.  Something is wrong, something is out of place, forgotten and left elsewhere.  Forgotten."In which Cassandra  deals with the long term effects of being Delilah's favorite, and a kettle of tea comes to the rescue.





	Plum Tea

Cassandra wakes in a panic.

Cassandra wakes in a panic, and she cannot for the life of her tell you why. She clutches at her heaving chest, fingernails digging into the silken fabric. Her other hand forces herself upright as her eyes begin to dart around the room.

The room is cast in darkness, the light of the moon creating a single bright stripe along the rug. Her desk is next to her, dresser and vanity across the way, and wardrobe to the other side. Everything seems to be in place - no shadows lurking the corner, no mess or broken glass, but.

Something is missing. Something is wrong, something is out of place, forgotten and left elsewhere. 

Forgotten. 

Cassandra flips up her covers and hops out of bed, crossing barefoot to her wardrobe. She flings the doors open (and recoils as one door cracks against the stone wall). She thumbs through every shirt and dress with shaking fingers, runs a hand along the bottom of the drawers, and finds nothing out of the ordinary. Two steps over, more drawers are flung open and shut in rapid succession. She peers under the bed, flings the covers once more, and sorts through every bottle and powder puff on the vanity feverishly. Still nothing, and she whimpers. 

She trips over nothing on her way to the desk, catching herself heavily against it. Wincing in pain, Cassandra yanks a small sliver from her palm. Breathe, a voice whispers. It’s familiar.

The top drawer opens with ease. Four bottles of ink, three worn-out nibs, a brand new nib, and a hairpin left from Vesper. 

The middle drawer is full of empty rolls of parchment, maybe two-dozen sheets worth.

The bottom still has crumpled up notes and drawings from old lessons, letters half-written before - 

Or after? Before or after she’d been melted into a porcelain doll, to Archie and Father Reynol and- 

There’s her prize. A burned scrap of a portrait, her own little face looking up at her. Cassandra clutches it to her chest and backs away from the drawers, falling against the window with a soft thwump.

The door creaks open, and she starts - Stand up straight, shoulders’ back, chin up. Her heart pounds faster - only one person is awake at this hour, but he has no busin-

“Lady Cassandra?”  
Oh.

The familiar silver-and-blue brand of the Paleguard is staring back at her, eyes wide with thinly-veiled concern.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but-”

“It’s quite alright. You may return to your post.” She winces at the slight tremor in her voice. Still, the guard hesitates in the doorframe. 

“...My apologies, but there was a noise-” He hesitates as Cassandra finally settles back into the mask of the Lady of the House. She sets the portrait back in its drawer, sliding it shut as she speaks.

“The noise of a bird at the window. Thank you, and return to your post.” 

“Something wrong?” Both she and the guard jump at a third voice, soft and feminine. Cassandra closes her eyes and braces herself as she recognizes the voice of her brother’s fairfolk companion. She can’t help but wring her hands before settling on clasping them tightly. The guard opens his mouth again before she can say anything (she ought to have a word with him later, a Lady’s order’s come first - but that is not her mother’s voice ringing in her ears, not this time).

“I just heard some noise from my lady’s room, no need to fret Miss Trickfoot.” Pike makes a noise of acknowledgement, and for a moment, Cassandra thinks she’s going to get off scot free.

“Well, it’s not polite for someone to look in a lady’s room without permission, you know.” The guard flushes slightly from underneath his silver helmet, seemingly taken aback by the small woman’s words. He stands there awkwardly for another moment before turning away from the doorframe. Cassandra breathes a sigh of relief before- 

“Excuse me, Cassandra, can I.. Can I come in?” Pike’s white head peeks into the doorframe, as calm as ever. Cassandra finds herself nodding silently, and Pike tiptoes in, shutting the door without so much as a squeak. Without her pounds of shining armor, she’s as quiet as a mouse. 

“Trouble sleeping?” Cassandra finds herself backing up and into her desk chair as the gnome approaches. She seems to notice her hesitation, and stops her advance. “It’s quite alright if you do! I, well, I have trouble sleeping too, sometimes.” 

Cassandra stares blankly at her, fiddling at the ruffled cuff of her sleeve absentmindedly. Pike has a familiar air about her, but she can’t quite pin down who it belonged to. Her eyes are too blue, cheeks too round - but still, she cannot place the name or face. The fingers twitching at her wrist tighten around it.

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve always found a nice, warm cup of tea really helps with night terrors.”

“It wasn’t - It wasn’t a nightmare. I…” Cassandra trails off, and she folds her arms in close to her chest. She shouldn’t have said so. If what she’s seen of the rest of his friends holds true, she’ll tell Percy something is terribly terribly wrong with his sister, and then the council will know, and the town will know, and Cass will simply cease to be.

If Pike is taken aback at all, she doesn’t show it. She just straightens up a little more, eyes gentle. 

“Well, I like to think tea can solve lots of problems, nightmares or not. Can I get you some?” She continues on, motioning to the doorway, “I was on my way to the kitchen already, it’s no trouble.” Ah, there it is. She reminds Cassandra of one of Vesper’s friends, a comforting disposition and a strong heart. Cassandra always envied that woman’s hair, golden blonde and curly. Lily, from the third house. 

The fingers clasped tightly around her wrist relax.

“Tea sounds lovely.” 

“I’ll be right up!” Pike chirps, and Cassandra is left alone again in her room. Somehow, the cleric’s brief presence has made her more conscious of herself. It’s the 6th of Cuersaar, year 843. Three windows, a pen and quill rest on her desk, and a stack of council reports. Keeper Yennen is to visit the castle tomorrow (though she can’t imagine why, he has long since stopped checking into the research on the Ziggurat), and Percy is down the hallway in the fourth room of the Dusk Wing.

It’s cold. Her hearth has long since burned to embers, and the cold, wet air that permeates in its place is uncomfortable. Still, she cannot quite bring herself to put on her slippers before she sets out for the kitchen herself, guard in tow. 

\--- 

He can’t help but think how she appears almost like a phantom, skin snowy pale in a long white nightgown, wandering barefoot through the empty halls of a castle haunted by more than the last five years. 

\---

Pike yawns blearily. Her quest for a match to light the stove has been unsuccessful, and after having already spent ten minutes looking for a kettle in this monster of a kitchen, she was ready to call on Sarenrae to help her with this damned cup of tea. She’s halfway through casting a flame spell when she jumps at the gentle rapping at the door. When she whips around with the nearest utensil in hand, she could not imagine seeing the pale face of her newest charge peering back at her. 

“Oh, sweet Sarenrae, you scared me. I thought you’d be up in your room still.” Cassandra bows her head sheepishly, the tiniest flush visible across her ears. Just like her brother! Were the girl not the source of her tea troubles, Pike would have delighted more at the revelation.

“My apologies, but I… I realized you wouldn’t know where the tea leaves and strainers are.” Were Cassandra not the Lady of the house, Pike might’ve believed her. Now, she didn’t have much experience with nobles, but if her early months with Percy were anything to go by, she highly doubted Cassandra knew exactly where all of the different utensils and materials her staff used were located. Cassandra seemed to realize how weak her argument was, and continued, “When I was small, we used to make a special tea from different kinds of fruit. I thought you might like to try it, too.”

Pike softened. It was easy to forget how young this woman was - sure, Pike wasn’t much older than her, as far as gnomes go, but she was still older by a few decades.

“I’d love to try some.”

\---

Cassandra sinks contentedly into her chair, warm mug of plum tea in hand. She sighs at the familiar taste. She had remembered correctly, that plum was always her favorite. Pike thought it was unmistakably Whitestone - not particularly sweet or sour, but a rich flavor made for both cold nights and sweltering evenings. 

“You are quite the miracle worker, Miss Pike. I may just fall asleep where I sit.” 

“Now that isn’t recommended.” Cassandra only hums in agreement, intent on fully enjoying her tea. 

It’s not that Pike isn’t enjoying her tea. It’s just a little something nagging at the back of her head, telling her to ask that one question, telling her it has to be asked.

“I’m glad I could help, Cassandra,” she starts, just a little nervous as she speaks, “But why were you awake?”

She hesitates only briefly, but Pike can see a familiar mask slip over her face. She’s taken to calling it a Percy-ism, though this now proves it more a familial trait.

“I’m not quite sure. Perhaps it was a bad dream, but I can’t for the life of me remember it now.” She frowns a little into her tea. “Whatever it was, it must’ve spooked me quite a bit.” 

Pike thinks back to their conversation in her room, to the startled expression on the girl’s face, to her adamant denial of a night terror. Bowing her head in thought, she even notices the now-dirty bare feet. 

It is not her place to pry.

“Hopefully now you can get some rest.”

"I undoubtedly will."

**Author's Note:**

> This spawned out of a conversation ahoy_m8tee and I had about what exactly the Briarwoods would have done to make a daughter of the last de Rolo. That and Cassandra is my sweet summer child.
> 
> I'd like to note the last fic I wrote was way back in 2014. Feedback welcome!


End file.
